


Comfort Food (and other benefits of coming home)

by Butterfly



Series: Scenes from a Resurrection Story [9]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M, Quentin Coldwater/Alice Quinn (mentioned) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-18 13:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18700336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfly/pseuds/Butterfly
Summary: Quentin eats a sandwich.





	Comfort Food (and other benefits of coming home)

**Author's Note:**

> And we have officially lost the MCD tag, though we're still dealing with the mess 4x13 left behind, so content warnings for suicidal and/or depressive thinking still apply.

The strangest thing had been opening his eyes and seeing the Monster looming over him, but it wasn't-couldn't be the Monster because even if the clothes were bloody and ripped and all dark dark black in the moonlight, they were _expensive_ , so it was- it was Eliot- Eliot was _alive_ -

No, that...

The _strangest_ thing had been hearing Julia ask Penny, “Well, satisfied?” in a triumphant sort of way. And Penny had said-

No, that wasn't...

Quentin touched the side of his head, muzzily, and listened to everyone talking to each other around him. Eliot– Eliot was holding him up, wrapped all around behind him which was... familiar but also something he hadn't felt in so so long and, when he opened his eyes again, Margo was crouching there trying to push a sandwich into his hands and Alice was saying his name over and over and pressing her fingernails into his leg, hard- _hard_ -hard like she didn't realize it would hurt him and her hair was loose and shining as the pale light of dawn broke through the trees.

“Ouch?” he ventured. The talking stopped and everyone looked at him so intensely that he instantly regretted making any noise at all. The silence was- was just as bad as all the talking and he looked around at the faces, finally settled on Kady, who seemed like _Kady_ and not like a strange frozen creature. “Um. Did we win? Everett's dead?” She opened her mouth, then looked at him like she was gonna cry which was... which was a weird look on her, then closed her mouth again and looked over at Julia.

“Yeah,” Julia said, dropping down next to him on the ground – the ground? They were in... they were in Fillory? He could... he could tell, the air in Fillory was always so, well. _Drugged_. “Yeah, he's dead. We won.”

“Oh,” Quentin said. He should be happy about that. “Huh. I guess I almost... I almost died?” There was an odd- Well. He hadn't wanted to die. But he hadn't _not_ wanted to die. He'd kinda thought he was _going to_ but... well. It was probably okay that he was alive. Eliot's hand tightened in his hair and Quentin leaned back against him, staring up at the smooth curve of his jaw. He'd shaved. “Hey, you should be careful,” he said, reaching up and patting Eliot's wrist. “You have- _El_. You have a gut wound. You gotta stay safe, okay? We have to keep each other safe.”

There was a little breathy gasp from Alice and Quentin focused on her. She was still digging into his thigh with her nails. It was a good thing she didn't work weaponized ones like Margo did sometimes. “Oh, hey. Alice. Um. That kinda hurts?” She let go all at once, sitting back on her heels in the dirt.

Margo was still holding out a sandwich to him, crusts cut off and meat and lettuce and tomato hanging out the edges. Carefully, he took it from her and stared at it uncertainly. “Um. Thanks?”

“I made it for you,” she said, in a rush, like it was one word. “I've got- there's more food. I baked some cookies and scones. I don't know. There's a cake. Chocolate and cherry or some bullshit like that. We brought- there's stuff to drink, too. No alcohol of any kind-” she said this very severely, as if he'd been bothering her for some. “-but we have- juice. Water?”

“I'm not really hungry,” he said. He hadn't. Actually. Been all that hungry the last few months. She stared at him. He shrugged a little. She stared more.

He blinked and took a bite of the sandwich. He looked around and- and everyone was watching him. He made sure his mouth was closed, chewed thoroughly, and swallowed. It was... probably a good sandwich?

Everyone kept staring. He pressed back against Eliot who, if he was staring too, at least Quentin couldn't see it.

When he was absolutely sure he'd swallowed every bit of what had been in his mouth, he tried saying, “Thank you?” and handing Margo back the rest. She didn't take it. He looked at Julia, and offered it to her. “It's good?”

“Q,” she said, in that gentle take-care-of-yourself way. “It's been a while since you had anything to eat. You'll feel better if you finish the sandwich.”

“Um. Maybe everyone else is hungry too?” he suggested.

“Yes, we should all eat,” Alice said crisply. She leaned over and pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth, too quick for him to do anything more than flinch in surprise, then rose smoothly to her feet and grabbed Margo by the arm. Ridiculously, Margo didn't yell at Alice or- or do anything except actually go with her? Julia nodded too, got up and turned away and started talking to Penny and Kady in a hushed voice. None of them actually appeared to be getting anything to eat.

Eliot hadn't moved but- but that was probably okay. He hadn't been staring. Quentin poked at the sandwich that Margo had made for him, and took another bite, experimentally. Eliot was stroking his hair now and that was- it had been a long time since he'd done that. “My dad used to make me sandwiches like this when I was having bad days,” he said, conversationally, just to Eliot. “With crusts cut off and all the same stuff inside. Weird that Margo makes them like that, too.”

He felt himself being lifted up and pulled back to sit in Eliot's lap which was- it was warm and Eliot wasn't saying anything strange, so Quentin decided to roll with it. They hadn't- they'd used to do this during- and maybe Eliot needed some comfort, after being stuck in his own brain for so long. He felt Eliot's mouth against the top of his head, so he settled in and let Eliot soothe himself by trying to soothe Quentin, even if Quentin didn't need it.

No one else seemed to be looking at them anymore, so Quentin took another bite, less neatly this time, a shred of lettuce landing on his shirt. He reached up and picked it off, then got distracted by his hand. He could remember- remember casting that last minor mending, and he'd been certain- _certain_ that he wouldn't have enough time to clear the room because- because he had to wait. To make sure it was working. “Hey, El? How did we get to Fillory?”

“That is a very long story,” Eliot said, reaching down and rubbing a restless hand against Quentin's side. “How are- Hmm. Tile color?”

Quentin blinked, startled. The last time Eliot had asked him that, they'd been in their sixties, and Quentin had been moping about Teddy's latest visit going poorly. But- _oh_. Quentin took stock of himself like he and Eliot had worked on over the years, matching his feelings to the colors of the mosaic and comparing them, and he realized, to his own surprise, “Oh. _Blank_. Blank tile, El.” Blank tile: numb, faded, colorless. Huh.

“Okay,” Eliot said, and _he_ didn't sound surprised. “That's okay. Will you let me help?”

Quentin took the last bite of the sandwich and rubbed his fingers clean on his shirt while he thought about it. “I think I'm dating Alice again?” It was... it wasn't quite a question. He remembered asking Alice if she wanted to try, and she'd said 'yes', and she'd kissed him- kissed him several times since then. “If that's- you don't- does that...?”

“I know.” Eliot's fingers brushed at his mouth and maybe- maybe there was a piece of food still there, which was an embarrassing thought. “Will you let me? Margo and I found a- a therapist that's also a magician. It might help to have someone to talk to who isn't- isn't involved in all this.”

“Oh, sure, I mean-” Quentin's hands fluttered a little, now that he didn't have the sandwich to anchor them. “I could try? Um. But will you be- be here in Fillory? Or...?”

“I can stay with you,” Eliot said, easy as anything. “I've already talked to Bambi about it.”

“That would. That would be nice,” Quentin managed. “I- um. I missed you. While you were gone.” He could feel it again, thumping inside his chest, that dull ache that he'd had to push down and push down and _push down_ while the Monster paraded around in Eliot's body. The Monster. Quentin frowned. Backed away from Eliot a little so that he could turn and grab at Eliot's shirt, yanking it up. He gently touched the scarred skin of Eliot's stomach, mouth twisting a little in confusion. Eliot... Eliot just bore it all with his natural grace. “Have- it seems like I- I lost some time.” He looked up at Eliot's face, past his chin and his nose and into- into his eyes this time. “Um. You look better. Healed. How much time- did you see the apartment yet? It was Marina's but now it's Kady's and sorta... all of ours?” He pressed his hand flat against Eliot's belly. It had seemed so- so hopeless, in the brief glimpse he'd seen before- before. “I really did think you were going to die anyway,” he added, helplessly, staring down at his hand. “There was so much blood. I thought we killed you. How did- um. How did they save you?”

“Lipson was a trauma nurse before she was a magician,” Eliot said, and his hand covered Quentin's, pressed it against the scar. “She was able to keep me stable until enough magic was available to heal me. You think you might be up for some water? I'm a little thirsty.”

“What? I guess,” Quentin said, distracted, and Julia was kneeling down next to them again, holding out a water bottle. Quentin looked at her – looked past her, but no one else was paying attention to them, so that was okay – and he took the bottle. It- she'd already taken the cap off and he gave her an annoyed eye-roll for babying him but she just smiled. He started to take a sip, but it turned into a deep, deep gulp before he realized it and then half the bottle was gone. He wiped off the mouth of it off with a shirtsleeve, then frowned at how dirty it was and- and looked up at Eliot and offered up the rest of the water with a sorry little shrug.

“Thank you, Q,” Eliot said. Squeezed his hand against Quentin's once, then lifted it up and took the bottle and drank the rest of the water, tilting his head back and making his neck a long long graceful line. Quentin's fingers twitched, but he kept his hands to himself this time. Eliot didn't- didn't know how doing things like that made him look. Or- or well, he did, but he didn't _mean_ anything by it. He was just being Eliot.

“Now, Q, would you rather have a cherry scone or a peanut butter cookie?” There was a plate in front of his face, and Quentin's gaze trailed up the arms holding it out and, hesitantly, he met Alice's eyes. She was smiling but very- very tightly and determined to be cheerful.

“Um.” Honestly, he just wanted- “Some sleep? Maybe? I feel like- maybe that minor mending I did. With the mirror. I guess it took a lot out of me.”

Alice nodded, clutching the plate to her chest and there was- there was a tear making its way down her cheek. And he wanted to apologize for making her cry but he- he thought that Margo had said _she_ made the cookies and the scones, so why did it matter so much to Alice whether or not he ate them? “We can do that, Quentin. Not here. We can take you home.” He must have made a face at that because she rushed to add, “I mean- not that the penthouse is _home_. Of course, it isn't. We could take you to the cottage at Brakebills instead, if you'd like? We'll take you anywhere you want.”

Quentin flicked his eyes towards Penny, who was talking to Margo now, but there was the occasional sideways glance from both of them, though they would start a little, guiltily, when they realized he'd seen them look over. But seeing them over there gave him an odd feeling of- he looked down at where he was- there was a ritual circle which, okay, but under it wasn't- it was. He got to his feet abruptly, swaying a little, and spun in a circle. The mosaic? But where was the cottage, it should be- there, there was a bit of a wall, tumbled down and overgrown.

He stumbled back a few steps and- and he felt Eliot catch him by the shoulders and he leaned back into the touch and whispered, “ _Eliot_. Why are we here? What- what happened? It looks like-like-”

“Stopping the Library meant we could stop the siphon,” Eliot said, quietly. “Between that and what was released when- when Everett died, there was a surge of magical energy. All kinds of strange things happened. Including a time jump for Fillory.”

“How long?”

“Three- ah. Three hundred years.”

“Oh-oh, god. Fen? Is she-”

“Answer unclear,” Eliot said, his voice thick. “Fen and Josh were both here when it happened, but Bambi and I didn't have time to-” Quentin turned around in Eliot's arms and gave him a tight-tight hug, going up on his toes to put more force into it.

“El, you can't- you can't stay with me on Earth,” Quentin said, urgently, and his heart was beating too fast but he had to- he had to- he couldn't be selfish, not with Eliot. “Fillory's your home.”

 _Yellow_ , he thought to himself. _I'm yellow right now, anxious-worried-fearful yellow._ It was a lot more stressful than being blank, and Quentin yearned briefly for the numbness to come back. Eliot sighed against him, one palm cupping the back of Quentin's head, and despite the anxiety pumping through him, Quentin found himself relaxing, piece by piece. 

“It isn't,” Eliot said, petting through Quentin's hair. “I learned that, when I was inside my own head. Fillory was... was where I learned to swim. But the reason any of it matters – that's you. That's Bambi. That's my home, Q, the two of you. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Quentin agreed, his pulse and breathing slowing back down to normal. “Sorry, I don't know why I'm- I've just been so tired, El. I feel like I haven't slept in- months. _Years_. Forever.”

“Would you rather go back to the cottage at Brakebills or that fancy penthouse?” Eliot asked, smoothing his hands over Quentin's shoulders and back. “If you don't care which, then I can pick. I don't mind.”

“Um, yeah. Could you?” Quentin pushed his face into Eliot's coat and wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, El, I hate to- uh, to tell you this, but you kinda smell like, um. Like someone threw up on you?” He felt Eliot shake a little, but heard the laughter a second later, so stayed where he was.

“We'll go to the cottage, then, so that I can get properly cleaned up,” Eliot said. He turned his head away, and added, “So, Twenty-Three, up for a trip to Brakebills?”

“Yeah, sure,” Penny said, from not very far away. “Anyone else wanna go right now or...?”

“I gotta talk to everyone about our next step,” Kady said. “So, yeah. Just take the two of them and then come back to be part of the meeting.”

There was a moment of silence – Penny waiting for objections – but then Quentin felt Penny's hand on his shoulder and-

-and they were in the cottage, by the windows. Penny's hand went away, and then Penny was gone too and Quentin was- was alone with Eliot.

“This has been a _really_ weird day,” Quentin said, not pulling out of the hug. Not yet. “I mean. I- is it okay if I- if I talk to you about the Alice thing? Because I'm kinda- I'm not sure what- if I-”

“Yeah, of course,” Eliot said. “Of course you can.”

Quentin pressed his hands against Eliot's chest so that he could lean back and peer up at his face, curiously. He sounded sincere. He looked sincere. So. He was probably being sincere. “Um. So- I guess it was longer for you, but it was only a few hours ago for me. And I- I feel like I- was I- was I trying to- Um.” He sighed and studied Eliot's face, trying to see if he looked impatient yet. “You watched. Everything that happened with Alice last time. And most of it was- bad? Not good, anyway. Is it stupid of me to want to try to fix things with her? I just felt- um. My discipline. It's minor mending. And it felt- I don't know. Symbolic? Like maybe I could fix things.”

“Maybe,” Eliot said, his eyes tracing over Quentin's face. “Do you _want_ to fix things with her or do you just feel like you should?”

“I- I don't know,” Quentin said, miserably.

“Well,” Eliot said, firmly, as he took Quentin by the elbow and led him up the stairs to his room. “You should probably sleep on it.” He paused outside the door and looked down at Quentin. “Do you want to be alone?”

“Not really?” Quentin looked past Eliot, talking to the door instead. “I feel like. Um. I feel like if you go away for too long, my brain might trick me into thinking we didn't really save you?”

“That makes sense,” Eliot said, rubbing his hand over Quentin's shoulder. “Okay, then, you go get comfortable and I'll go make myself _not_ smell like I was just in a dragon's digestive tract.”

“In a...?” Quentin wrinkled his forehead but Eliot just mouthed ' _long story'_ and headed towards his bathroom. Quentin looked down at his own clothes, which were... not what he had been wearing the last time he'd dressed himself. He peeled off the vest – seriously, El, a vest? – and the shirt and kicked off the shoes. He was kinda cold, still, so he left on the pants and the socks, which seemed not as dirty as everything else anyway, then he crawled into Eliot's bed and curled around one of his pillows and listened to the sound of water filling up a tub. Listened to Eliot sing softly to himself as he bathed. Listened to Eliot pad back out into the room and tug on some underwear and climb into the bed. He shivered a little, and felt himself pulled back into Eliot's arms and- he shivered again because- because Eliot smelled like himself, and his hold was relaxed and soft and nothing like the strange ways the Monster had touched him from time to time. After a while, he whispered, not sure whether or not he hoped Eliot was still awake, “Eliot, I think I might remember dying. Did I die?”

Eliot's body froze for a moment behind him. “Oh, Q. Oh. _Honey_.” He felt Eliot's mouth press against the back of his head, heard a tiny sniffle and a shuddering breath.

Quentin closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. That was... that was definitely a yes, then.

“No wonder everyone's treating me like I might break,” he said, trying to sound- trying to sound casual about it, but he had a feeling he wasn't fooling Eliot. “Um. You said it's a long story but... but how long was I...?”

“God, forever,” Eliot said, with a broken little laugh. “Or, well. Three months, one week. Four days. Something close to eight hours, depending on if we count from when it happened or when... when I found out.”

Quentin thought about that for a long time, the idea of Eliot, still healing from that gaping bloody wound, finding out that Quentin had- that he had-

He pet at Eliot's arm where it was wrapped around his chest, trying to be comforting. “I'm here now,” he said. “I'm here now. I'm- I'll talk to that therapist you found, okay? I'm- I'm gonna get better. I promise, okay?” He might be yellow- _blank_ -blue now, still, but he would work on it.

“Always so fucking brave,” Eliot said, with a fondness in his voice that was painful to hear. “Get some sleep, huh? I'll be here when you wake up.”

So Quentin let himself listen to Eliot breathe, and he listened to the sound of Eliot's heartbeat and, slowly, slowly, he let himself rest.

 


End file.
